Dark-Heart Darling
by MissHikaHaru
Summary: * I miss you. I love you. I'll break your heart. Mother, Father, don't make me * It's been three years, and each has grown in heart, face, and feeling. Either loves the other, but in different ways entirely; Wendy, still so sweet and kindly, but Peter... it's been so long he's changed more than anyone could have imagined, and a new-found darkness festers in his heart.


It was a beautiful night Wendy had chosen to stay awake. She could hear the quiet rumbling of her brothers' snores in the Nursery across the landing, and she could not help but feel just a little bit abandoned in her own room. It had been long enough, three years now, since she had stopped sleeping in that little room fraught with toys and night-time escapades - though she still spent her evenings there, still roaming wild with her boundless imagination. Little did she know that so did the spark of her stories, hovering with his tiny elfen friend above the window-bough and grinning impishly at mention of his numerous exploits and adventures. But, despite the wonder of the stars glittering overhead like diamonds - two shining out brighter than the rest, the stars that held so much more magic than any could comprehend - Wendy Darling could not bring herself to admire them. The clock ticking away in the corner, the female sat - perched like a roosted robin - on the cushioned windowsill as snow fell daintily by her, their crystalline ballet swaying to and fro with the lilting wind. Her charcoal stick scratched against the parchment, thin fingers blackened as the night sky as she drew. A reminiscent smile curled her full pink lips, though the heart from which it stemmed was sad.

Lonely.

Utterly confused.

She paused in the act of drawing a tiny wing (pertaining to a certain fairy friend) as her eyes tersely trained on the thin silver band encircling one of her slender fingers. The thing was very light and seemed to weigh nothing at all, but all the same... to Wendy the ring was like lead, something pulling her back down from Happy Thoughts and flight. Biting her lip a little, the eldest Darling child turned her head up to sky at last, just as the clock began to chime twelve. She could see only one of her favourite stars, now, as if the other had fallen to Earth much like the innocence and carelessness that seemed only yesterday to still reside. And now that tenant was gone, packed up and said goodbye, as to be replaced by something - _someone_ - completely new.

And she'd never even met him.

At the fourth chime, Wendy heard something that could have been footsteps outside the door. Believing it to have been her father, the kindly if occasionally formidable Mr. Darling, the girl leapt to her bare feet and (with a lick of her thin fingers, the ones that were notably less coal-covered) stubbed out the lone candle by which she had been sketching; it yawned a feeble hiss by way of goodnight. Quick as a fox, long brown hair flying, Wendy crossed the room and was in bed, head falling to the pillow with a thump and scrabbling to arrange the covers. Her eyes snapped shut as the door creaked open, light spilling in through the steadily widening entryway. Her heart beat traitorously loud and fast as she pretended to be soundly asleep, all too aware of the eyes set on her supposedly slumbering form.

"...Wendy?"

Immediately recognising his whispering voice, Wendy's shining blue eyes snapped open.

"Peter!" she gasped, throwing off the still-cold covers and rising a few inches off the floor as she stood - her Happy Thoughts had immediately returned, sparking the residual fairy dust still lingering around her person.

"Wendy!" Pan hushed his cry of delight (though fairly unsuccessfully) as he spread wide his arms and lifted the girl from her feet in a bear-like hug. Wendy clutched at his weather-worn shoulders, nose buried deep in the warm scent of earth and forest flowers. She remembered the vague masque of Neverland's unusual peppermint smell. A bright light hovered in front of her face, and Wendy recognised Tinkerbell - mischievous and peevishly beautiful as ever, tiny glowing body clad with the petals of a primrose.

"Hello, Tink," she grinned, still enclosed in Peter's cage-like embrace. The little sprite must have said something back, but Wendy could not tell what - in the cripplingly short time she had spent in Neverland she had never properly managed to grasp the Faerie tongue. Nonetheless, Wendy knew it was along the lines of 'I missed you' as the sparkling imp planted a little kiss on the end of her freckled nose, and proceeded to hug her neck like an odd little glowing scarf. Wendy knew that Peter must have missed her still more, for he seemed to refuse the very idea of letting her go - instead the two (well, three) floated a few feet from the floor in the other's arms (or neck, in Tinkerbell's case), which also happened to be unintentional; Pan, himself, thought he was still firmly footed but the pure strength of his Happy Thoughts had propelled him higher. Neither spoke until the last of the twelve chimes had dissipated, falling into slumber for another hour.

"It's been three years," Wendy said quietly, fighting back tears that wanted to know why she hadn't so much as seen him - hadn't even heard the laughter she loved. Not even the Cock's Crow, that swaggering cry of Peter Pan. Not a sight. Not even a whisper. Not in three years. "I can't believe how long it's - oh, Peter, _why _haven't I seen you?"

"You said that you were ready to grow up," he replied, and they started to sink a little as he remembered the last time they had spoken together, "so I was letting you... I thought that Grown Ups don't like fairy tales like me. So I..."

"And yet _you've_ grown, too," Wendy remarked, letting Peter go as their feet thumped against the floorboards and holding him like a scornful mother by the shoulders. He grinned back sheepishly, for he knew it was true himself. But he didn't mind, as he'd always thought he would. In fact, being taller - much more like a man, as he was now nearing sixteen - suited him very well in aspects such as combat (though not so wonderful in the sense of aerodynamics, for flying was just a little bit odd with more size than you are used to).

"Well," Peter shrugged, folding his wiry arms across his wicker-and-vine chest, "it's not as though I haven't visited, at all."

"Without saying a thing?"

"It's hard to know what to say," the boy admitted, an awkward grin spreading across his youthful face, and his gaze was momentarily distracted by Tinkerbell's unerring glitter as she let go of Wendy's neck and instead perched upon her shoulder. "Every time I come by you're telling your stories, and I never want to interrupt them - I miss them, almost as much as I missed you. And your brothers, come to think."

"Yes, I suppose they miss you too," Wendy smiled, loosening her hold of Peter's lean shoulders and clasping her blackish hands behind her back and swaying lightly. She looked him up and down with those big blue eyes of hers, and couldn't suppress the purring approval within her. Now he was taller, more defined in face and arms and chest, Peter was a very attractive young man. His greyish-blue eyes like the sky were ever-bright and glittering as she remembered, corn-coloured hair grown longer and more curly than ever - a few beaded braids lay amid the unruly blonde tangles, a sprig of feathers protuberant on the right-hand side. At the sight of his curled blonde head, her smile widened as she remembered Curley and all the other Lost Boys. "And how are my little ones doing? Do they miss my stories, like you do?"

"Without doubt," Peter affirmed with a grin, teeth more than a little wonky from all the peculiar things he must have eaten - in Neverland, just about _everything_ was edible. Wendy remembered Peter was partial to the odd bite of bark. He said it tasted like pepper and nuts, but had been unable to convince Wendy herself to try some. "I tried telling the stories back, but I'm not as good as you - they always say so, at least."

"They clearly don't miss the manners I taught them, then," the girl sighed, and Peter laughed (very loudly indeed, so much so that Wendy had to clasp her hand across his mouth).

"Ssh!" she hissed, feeling Pan's breath hot against her skin. He continued to laugh, for Wendy had not changed at all the last three years - inside, at any rate. Her heart was still the same, motherly and warm and very _very _careful. On the outside, however, she'd grown in many remarkable ways. Her wavy brown hair was longer than he'd ever seen it, and now she was almost as tall as him - which was odd, because Peter remembered being a good number of inches above her. Those eyes he knew so well were larger and deeper and more beautiful than the last time he had seen them so close, lips full and round and rosy like a flower-bud, with that light dusting of freckles on the bridge of her thin like moss on a tree. And, in other aspects, she was more woman than he would have thought possible for the girl he had once known. Peter could not think of a time when he had seen her in such a way, but (not at all to his surprise) he very much liked what she had become; well, she was still Wendy at heart - and whatever Wendy was, Peter would like it. It was just the way he thought about her, more frequently as of late as he had come to realise. As he, himself, had turned from the boy-who-would-not-grow-up to the boy-who-would-grow-up-but-only-a-little he knew that it wasn't because of a whim. It was because of a 'who'.

Once sure he would be quieter, Wendy removed her hand and folded her arms as Peter turned to inspect the room.

"So this is what comes with growing up?" he asked, hovering about like an oddly excitable hummingbird.

"Yes, I suppose - I was told, even before I came to Neverland, that I would leave the Nursery when I was a little older."

"I couldn't find you just now," Peter admitted, flying back to Wendy and crossing his legs in the air above the bed; he folded his arms and slumped as though bored, but grinned at the girl - with whom he was now eye-level. "Next-door, I mean - I didn't realise you would have your own room. Normally I'm outside the window until your story is finished and then I hurry back to Neverland to tell the Boys - well, actually, not always, I like flying around a bit; this place is so weird! I mean, buildings! I think that's what you called them, anyway, I forget - and there are so few trees, and it smells odd. I mostly just like hopping chimneys, to be perfectly honest."

"Oh, Peter," Wendy sighed, though she couldn't suppress a giggle when Pan winked and swivelled upside down with his upturned eyes staring into hers.

"I mean, sometimes I spend whole days in your world!"

"It's not a world, Peter - it's a city - it's just London."

"Ah, yes - Lundonn! I'd forgotten what this place was called." Wendy giggled at his odd pronunciation of the name, and Peter's chest seem to swell proudly at his humour - though it wasn't humour, really, for he didn't actually know how to pronounce all these 'British' words fluently. He'd always delighted in hearing Wendy's laughter. He stretched, lounging in mid-air as Tinkerbell started exploring the room like a firefly that had flown in through the window. "You know, it's so much fun flying past all these people who don't believe in things like Happy Thoughts and such. Once I had these men in black uniform chasing me with whistles, it was excellent."

"Yes, I'd heard about that!" Wendy said in a hushed whisper of a laugh, grinning. She remembered well how their had been a summons for Scotland Yard to protect the inhabitants of Baker Street from a poltergeist dressed in leaves. "So that must be how you're older - you've spent so much time here, too, you've carried on growing with me!"

"That's what I thought," Peter affirmed, sinking back down onto the floor before Wendy. "But I shouldn't like to get much older - I like what I've become, but I'll never be a Grown Up!"

Wendy restrained her verbal agreement of the statement - she, too, liked what he had become. A pale pink glowed in her cheeks, but - with Tinkerbell flitting by the window - she didn't suppose that Peter could see. All the same, he did have an uncanny grasp of how she felt and when.

"So I suppose you won't visit so often, in the future," she thought aloud, and the girl felt a little down-hearted.

"No," he replied, "No, I don't suppose so. Oh - hey, Tink!" For Tinkerbell had come zipping over like a falling star, holding up something about four times her size. "What's this?" Peter asked, as he took the thin sketching-book in his earthy-nailed hands. His eyes scanned the drawing, and he positively beamed. "It's me - and you too, Tink!"

"Yes," Wendy admitted, shrugging a little. "I couldn't very much sleep tonight - I've had so much happening to me, and an awful lot of things to think about. So I was drawing - and I... I missed you, so..."

"That seems all we've talked about," Peter teased, and Wendy's mouth twitched just a little. Tinkerbell turned her impish little eyes between the two of them, and - rolling them - fluttered up to Peter's ear and began whispering something very fast; she looked and sounded much like a hummingbird, with those tiny golden wings quivering very fast. "Tink, what's - oh. Oh, really? Do you think so? Think about the last - well, if you put it like that, I suppose - of course I want to spend - alright, _alright!_" He at last proclaimed, batting the fairy away like some irritating insect; she gave an indignant tug on one of his messy gold ringlets. "Wendy?"

"Peter?"

For a moment he didn't continue with his question, and the girl looked at him expectantly with those bit blue eyes.

"Would you come back to Neverland, with me?"

"I - oh, Peter! I would love to, but - "

Just then the three heard a low rumbling growl, and each turned about to see Nanna - the enormous nurse-hound - grumbling threats under her breath; boys ought not to be in young girl's bedrooms at night, and the matron-animal knew it. Her usually droopy basset eyes were narrowed as if cold, and those pointed yellowing teeth were bared - it wasn't just any boy in her lady's room. She remembered this one. More precisely, she remembered his devil-may-care shadow; the shade recognised her in turn, for one of its translucent hands was seen to be clutching its person's shoulder.

"Nanna..." Wendy said quietly, pouting her lips and making kissing noises at the dog as she approached with hands outstretched to tickle her soft-spot. "Nanna, it's alright - no, Nanna, please don't growl! Nanna, stop - _Nanna!_" For the dog had begun to bark, loud and abrasive, and Wendy knew there was no hope of her parents to remain in bed. She began to turn to Peter, to tell him to come the next night, but she felt the familiar contradiction of his cool warmth envelope her hand and the next moment she was being pulled towards the window. "Peter - "

"Wendy, come on!" Pan cried, leaping up onto the window-seat as a door opened and footsteps rushed towards them.

"Peter, no!"

"Wendy!?" two voices shouted.

She turned in time to see Michael and John hurrying from the Nursery, the oil lamps flaring in the hallway, but it was too late. The next thing she knew was the cold rush of air as Peter ripped her through the void of the ordinary. But she wasn't flying. She was falling, and - though Peter was strong - he struggled to keep both their weight aloft.

"Happy Thoughts!" he told her, barely managing to swerve a lamppost. But Wendy, in all the confusion of both the moment and the day preceding it, could not muster one. "Wendy, think of me! You're with me, I've got you - we're going to Neverland. _Together!_"

And this was, indeed, a Happy Thought for her, for in a matter of seconds the two were higher than the rooftops, hands clasped together and Tinkerbell's light illuminating the way. They were a silhouette against the moon, two figures and one fairy, headed for the second on the right and straight on 'til morning.

The Darlings boys were all but hanging out of Wendy's window, mouths agape in surprise and annoyance - Peter hadn't even brought them along! Nanna, still barking raucously, was hastily pushed aside by Mr. Darling and his enormous strides as he entered the room with a candle brandished against the shadows, his wife following in tandem with her hair uncombed and face worried. The Darling's spotted their daughter's empty bed, and began shouting her name - Mr. Darling turned right around and hurried off down the stairs to alert the authorities; his daughter was missing! Snatched from her bed! Lunatics! Murderers! Traffickers! All of them put together!

Mary Darling, however, noticed her eldest child's sketchbook lying open upon the floor where it had been dropped so unceremoniously. She bent, gathering her shawl around her, and flicked to the most recent page. A boy gazed back at her, grinning devilishly, as though he were laughing at her. A small female body hovered by his face, numerous tiny dots a connotation some kind of dust or glitter. She had wings. Mary, who knew well of her daughter's vivid imagination, was a great lover of fairy tails, herself; she knew exactly where her daughter had gone, and knew quite why, for her eye - trained, as most women's were, for detail in fine art and embroidery - noticed just the smallest pencilling in the corner.

It read:

~* I miss you. I love you. I'll break your heart.

Mother, Father, don't make me *~


End file.
